


Perfect

by rinwins



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, God Complex, M/M, Mind Control, POV Second Person, Selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24527704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinwins/pseuds/rinwins
Summary: 'The bathing chamber was an indulgence when you built it, like the museum and the dining hall, and, somewhere on the flagship, the bedchamber. Food, sleep, recreation- necessities for the poor souls not yet ascended; for you, luxuries. The perfect vessel you've built does not require them, but of course, there's no sense in denying yourself the rewards of perfection.'(Just absolute self-indulgent id-fic trash. I'm not even sorry.)
Relationships: Hordak/Horde Prime (She-Ra), Horde Prime/Horde Prime Clones (She-Ra)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48





	Perfect

There will be some time, now, before the next part of your plan is ready. Hours, perhaps, but not more. This is as good an opportunity as any.

The bathing chamber was an indulgence when you built it, like the museum and the dining hall, and, somewhere on the flagship, the bedchamber. Food, sleep, recreation- necessities for the poor souls not yet ascended; for you, luxuries. The perfect vessel you've built does not require them, but of course, there's no sense in denying yourself the rewards of perfection. 

Ah. Speaking of which-

There's no reason for you to know which of your many clones is which, but you do. Every single one has a mental signature, indistinguishable even to one another, but each unique to you. The clone currently unfastening the drape from your waist, with delicacy and the minimum of fuss, is one that serves you frequently on these occasions. 

But the other- yes, even better. This will be informative  _ and _ pleasurable.

It is, in its way, a kind of ceremony. Your attendants do not linger, removing the rest of your attire, nor would you expect them to; neither do they rush. Everything is smoothly timed, their movements in perfect concert. You can feel their pleasure at being so near to You, being the ones chosen to serve You, as they should. As is right.

Beside the inset pool with its star-dark waters there is a single, low-backed chair. Another acquisition from a long-ago-conquered world, of course. Most of them you keep in your museum. This piece is here, because you saw a use for it here.

You settle yourself on it now, resting comfortably inside the elegant arch of the frame. One of the clones moves to stand behind you, the other before you.

You do not need to instruct them, but it is pleasing to hear the snap of your fingers in the high-vaulted chamber.

You smile.

One touches your shoulders, gently, even reverently. His hands are light; the sensation is unusual, but expected, and welcome. You cannot see him with your eyes, but you sense his mind as he moves, kneeling at Your back, restraining Your bare arms very neatly behind the chair. He rests his head against Your shoulder in gratitude.

The other… hesitates.

"Little brother," you say, aloud, "are you afraid?"

You know his answer. "No, Lord Prime."

"Then come forward, and I will guide you."

And he does.

Yes, of course, your lost little brother, the one you thought defective, the one you thought destroyed. How satisfying to know you can repair even this.

You let him share that pleasure as you enter his mind. The pleasure of shadows cast out, of imperfections purified, of pain released. In Your light you have done this, and all is perfect in Your image.

He stands over you now, all hesitation gone. His hand reaches out to you, brushes your cheek, almost a caress. Through his eyes you regard Yourself, serene, still, meeting Your own gaze, a perfect circuit. 

You wrap his other hand around your throat.

His shock runs through both of you, his mind and your body. And he fights you- they do, sometimes- he desires only to serve You, yet he cannot do You harm. Oh, you will win, of course. You share this knowledge with him too. But he struggles.

And your body struggles, an instinct, a purely physical reaction. Air remains a necessity. You can ease his grip- and tighten it again- if your control does not slip, you will be in no real danger- but you must not slip.

_ This _ is the true pleasure. The perfect tension between control and chaos. The knife-edge balanced in your hand. A thousand threads all interconnected, and you are at once the weaver and the web- mind and body and mind, you are the arms around Your arms, you are the pulse fighting in your veins and you are the hand stopping Your breath. You are yourself and you are yourself standing over Yourself, in control and yielding control, circuitous, complete,  _ perfect _ .

You win. Your hand closes. You are standing over Yourself and you are still, serene, and You are smiling even as You struggle.

You watch Your own eyes widen, and then, start to close. You watch, with perfect pleasure, the transfer tentacles with their needle tips unmoor from their housings on Your chest. You see them rise-

The clone drops to his knees before you. He is silent for the time it takes, a space of seconds, for you to recover your breath. He is still. All is still. You watch him for a few seconds more.

"Are you afraid?" you say.

You know the truth. "Yes, Lord Prime."

"Fear is only a shadow." Your voice is quiet in the vaulted chamber. "When it is cast out, the suffering it brings will vanish. Little brother, do you wish to suffer?"

"I wish only to serve your glory, Lord Prime."

Behind you, your other attendant releases your arms. You lean forward instead, reaching out to brush this one's cheek, gently tilting his face up to yours.

"I am pleased with you, little brother." He turns his face into your palm, the slightest hint of a sigh. "Cast out your fear now. You will serve at my side, as you wished."

"Thank you, my brother," he murmurs, "my Lord, thank you. I will not disappoint you."

"No," you say. "You will not."

You stand. So too do your two attendants, their movements the perfect mirror of yours. You hold out your arms, and they support you each on one side as you descend into the pool, hip-deep.

Above you the vault is silent, and the faceted window shows the stars, and around you the stars reflect in the dark water; all silent, all still, free of all imperfection.

You allow yourself the slightest smile, another luxury you reserve for yourself. The girl will come soon enough, and when she does, you will be ready. 

There is time enough. This world, like all worlds, like all things, is bound by shadows now- but soon you will free it, and it, too, will be yours.


End file.
